


Voice of the North

by Vern_fern



Series: Voice of the North [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Blood and Injury, Childhood Trauma, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, References to Canon, References to Depression, Underage Drinking, its a fan story, underage protagonist
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 00:34:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29144541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vern_fern/pseuds/Vern_fern
Summary: "I just want to live a normal life, why am I still doing this?" - BrantonTrying to fulfil his destiny, Branton tries to hone his skills and sharpen his mind, and is willing to do so at almost any personal cost. He wants to do this right.
Relationships: its complicated - Relationship
Series: Voice of the North [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2139135





	Voice of the North

_ Darkness. That's all Branton could see, just the inky darkness of the night. He felt light, as if he was floating in space. It was calming. His breathing was steady, even though a moment ago it had been ragged and uneven.  _

  


_ “Bran.”  _

  


_ He heard a female voice murmur out.  _

  


_ He turned his head to the right, looking at where the word had been spoken from. _

  


_ Darkness was all that was there, no person, just the inky darkness. _

  


_ He heard a sigh echo throughout the space he was in, it sounded more thoughtful than annoyed or sad.  _

  


_ After a moment, he felt his eyelids getting heavier as he felt exhaustion ebbing into his body. He fought to stay awake, fought to keep his cloudy gray eyes open, after a few moments, he succumbed to sleep, drifting away into a deep sleep. _

  


_ “Good luck Branton, goodness knows you need it.” _

  


Branton let out a tired sigh as he slowly opened his eyes, closed again as the bright sunlight hit them. He yawned and rolled his aching shoulders.

  


The stiffness in his shoulder subsided a bit, yet traces of that ache were still there. His head pounded slightly as he tilted his neck to the right, various quiet cracks were heard as his neck went back into its current position, the constant rocking of the cart and the heavy breathing of the horses didn’t help ease the aching in his joints in the slightest. 

  


After a few moments, he opened his eyes completely, they slowly adjusted to the sunlight that hit the earth with its bright, warm gaze. Branton looked around slowly, taking in the sight of the distant, snow covered mountains and large pine trees that emitted the strong yet familiar pine tree smell.

  


“Hey, hey you, Kinsman,” Brantons head snapped up, much to the displeasure of his neck, to see a blond Nord wearing a long sleeved blue cuirass, looking at him with a determined yet tired gaze.

  


“You’re finally awake. You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into the damned Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there.” he nodded his head toward a dark haired Nord next to him, he was in ragged clothing and covered in dirt and grime.

  


The ragged Nord looked over to the blond, light anger glowing in his dirt brown eyes, “you damned Stormcloaks, Skyrim was fine until you all came along. Empire was nice and lazy, if they hadn't been looking for you, I could've stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell.” he spat out glaring at the Stormcloak soldier next to him.

  


His gaze drifted over to Branton, anger still in his gaze as he shifted to face the young boy, “You there... You and me, we shouldn't be here. It's these damned Stormcloaks the Empire wants. _ " _

  


The blond spoke up, annoyance filling his dirt speckled face, “we are all brothers and sisters in binds now,  _ thief.” _ he hissed out.

  


The Imperial soldier sat at the front of the cart, guiding the horse forward on the stone road that was under them, looked over his shoulder at the prisoners with an annoyed look, “by the Eight, shut up back there.” 

  


Branton shifted his gaze down to the floor of the cart, his eyes trained on the little open spaces of the floor. He continued to listen to the conversation between the two Nords, but was silent, not wanting to say anything that could cause one of the two to become angry at him.

  


All was silent, other than the wheels of the cart squeaking and the breathing of the horse, until the brown eyed Nord spoke up, curiosity fulling his tone as well as his gaze at the large Nord infront of him.

  


“And what's wrong with him, huh?” he questioned.

  


The blonds eyebrows lowered as light anger filled his features, “watch your tongue! You’re speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak! The true high king!”

  


The brunette gave him a quizzical look, “Ulfric? Ulfric, The Jarl of Windhelm? You’re the-the leader of the rebellion, right? But if they’ve captured you? Oh Gods! Where are they taking us?!”

  


The blonds eyes softened a bit as his gaze drifted to his left, “I don’t know where we’re going, but Sovenguard awaits…” he said, his words becoming softer as he finished his sentence. 

  


The brunettes eye brows upturned as his tone became more frantic, “No, no! This-this can’t be happening! This isn’t happening!” his head dropped slightly as he began breathing faster.

  


The blond stayed silent for a bit before lifting his head and turning his body towards the ragged Nord, he nudged him slightly with his elbow while asking, “ay, what village are you from horse thief?”

  


The brunette didn’t look up but narrowed his large eyes, his face wrinkling, “why do you care?’ he spat out.

  


The blond looked off into the forest behind the cart, “a Nords last thoughts, should be of his home.”

  


It was silent for a few moments before the brunette spoke up, his words quite silent, “Rorikstead. I - I’m from Rorikstead.” 

  


Branton distantly heard the creak of old hinges and a clack of wood hitting wood.

  


“General Tullius Sir, the Headsman is waiting!” he heard a female voice call out.

  


“Oh good, let's get this over with!” he heard a higher pitched voice call out, annoyance and slight exhaustion evident in his voice.

  


The brunette dropped his head down and began mumbling frantically, “Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh. Divines, please. . . please help me…”

  


Branton looked up for the first time in the last few minutes, and saw the city they were in, there were large stone walls closing off the city from the forest and snowy terrain, large stone towers with the classic Imperial sign on banners that hang off the towers, and houses of various sides of the walls of the city.

  


Towards another pathway that led to another part of the city, Branton saw an elven woman and a man in Imperial armor speaking, the elven woman was seeming angry, as she was motioning violently with her left hand. The Imperial, who was seemingly exhausted, and done with the elven woman, just shook his head a few times at the elven woman while mumbling something to her.

  


_ I wonder what are they’re talking about- _

  


“Pah! Look at him, General Tullius the military governor, and it looks like the Thalmor are with him! Damn elves, bet they had something to do with this!”

  


Branton didn’t say anything and just shifted his gaze over to around the city, taking in how nice it looked there.

  


_ Might as well take in the last few moments in my life. _

  


The blond let out a soft sigh, which caused Branton to lift his head and look at the blond who was staring out at the city with a nostalgic look in his green eyes, “This is, uh, Helgen. I used to be sweet on some girls from here. . . I wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in. Heh, funny, when I was a lad, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so. . . so safe.” he said, his words dropping to a murmur towards the end of his sentence.

  


Branton looked out at the forest outside the city, it looked so calm and peaceful out there. He heard a distant conversation between what sounded like a son and his father, something about watching the soldiers or asking one of them a question, they passed by too quickly, and Branton couldn’t really pick up on what they were talking about.

  


The cart they were on began slowing down before it eventually came to a halt, the soldier guiding the horse in front of them to an empty spot next to another cart.

  


He distantly heard a gruff female voice yelling to get the prisoners out of the cart.

  


The brown haired Nord lifted his head, his eyes showing confusion, and more prominently, fear.

  


“What, why are we stopping?” he whimpered out.

  


The blond looked up at him and gave him a look, “why do you think? End of the line…” he said.

  


He began standing up, continuing to speak slowly and ever so calmly, “Let’s go, shouldn’t keep the Gods waiting for us.” he said while shuffling.

  


“No wait! Were not rebels! You can’t- do this!” he said while hopping out behind Ulfric.

  


“Face your death with some courage  _ thief _ .” the blond grumbled out.

  


The brunette yelled out again, “you’ve got to tell them, we weren’t with you, this is a mistake!” 

  


Branton leaned over the edge before jumping down, his clothed but bruised feet colliding with the cold winter floor.

  


He lifted his head and saw the Imperial Captain, she had a deadly look in her eye that screamed bloody murder. There was no getting out of this.

  


She stood next to another Imperial soldier who had a quill in one hand and a hardcover book in another.

  


“Step towards the block when we call your name, one at a time!” she yelled out while folding her arms over her chest.

  


“Puh. Empire loves their damn lists.” the Stormcloak soldier grumbled out, jumping down, his knees bending slightly due to the impact of the ground hitting the bottom of his feet, before he straightened up, glaring at the soldiers in front of him.

  


“Ulfric Stormcloak, the Jarl of Windhelm.” the soldier with the quill called out.

  


The Stormcloak leader looked up and began walking, taking large steps and keeping his head high as he walked forward.

  


“It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric!” the blond called out, holding his head high.

  


“Ralof of Riverwood.” the blond walked forward, also holding his head high.

  


“Lokir of Rorikstead-”

  


The brunette ran up, cutting off the soldier with his frantic yelling, “no! Wait! I’m not a rebel! You can’t do this!” he repeated, looking frantically from left to right for a few moments, while the captain gave him a murderous glare.

  


He looked forward and ran past the soldiers.

  


“HALT!” the captain hollered out, taking a defensive step forward, with her left hand on her hip.

  


“You’re not gonna kill me!” Branton distantly heard Lokir yell out.

  


“Archers!” the captain yelled out, motioning her hand to the running Lokir.

  


Branton watched as an Imperial soldier next to a stone tower pulled a bow off of his back, and grabbed an arrow, before anyone could blink, the arrow was already flying through the air, within a mere few seconds, Lokir fell forward, limply, his body colliding with the cold stone floor.

  


“Anybody else feel like running?” the captain called out, whipping around to glare at all the captured soldiers.

  


“Wait, you there, step forward.” the soldier who had been reading the names of the prisoners on the cart Branton had been on, motioned for Branton to step forward.

  


He gave Branton a quizzical look, his left eyebrow raised, quill and list lowered ever so slightly, “who, are you?”

  


Branton looked up, eyebrows upturned slightly, “I’m Branton...of- of Riften.” he spoke out softly.

  


The soldier quickly looked down at the list, scanning it for a good five seconds.

  


“Riften eh, kinsman?” he said, looking at Branton for a few moments before turning his head to face the captain.

  


“Captain, what should we do? He's not on the list.”

  


Branton felt some hope fill his chest at those words, perhaps this was a huge misunderstanding-

  


“Forget the list, he goes to the block.”

  


All the hope he had in his chest was extinguished faster after the captain had spoken those words.

  


The soldier looked as if he was going to say something, he looked so against the idea and slightly shook his head.

  


“By your orders captain, I’m sorry, at least you’ll die here in your homeland. Follow the captain prisoner.” the soldier said, closing the book with the quill inside.

  


_ Homeland… _

  


Branton let out a short sigh. Death. Maybe it was his time. Maybe he should just face his death like a true Nord would. Go to Sovngarde. Or wherever he was supposed to go.

  


As he walked forward, he briefly made eye contact with an older, hazel eyed woman. Though the eye contact was brief, Branton felt a bit more at ease with the situation after looking at her.

  


The moment was short lived however, as he looked away and stopped moving, looking up to see General Tullius walk up to Ulfric.

  


“Ulfric Stormcloak, some people here in Helgen call you a hero, but a “hero” doesn’t use a power like The Voice to murder his king and userp his throne.” the general said, folding his arms over his chest as Ulfric let out a strained grumble, glaring at the shorter man in front of him.

  


“You started this war, plunged Skyrim into chaos, now the Empire is going to put you down! And restore the peace.”

  


A distant, yet loud roar was heard echoing.

  


_ What the hell? _

  


The soldier who was previously reading off the list spoke up, summing up everyone's confused thoughts, “what was that?”

  


General Tullius lifted his hand up to his ear and waved it dismissively, “it was nothing, carry on.”

  


“Yes General Tullius!” the captain said proudly, lifting her chin up as she moved her head to look over at the priestess of Arkay.

  


“Give them their last rites.”

  


The priestess lifted her hands up to the heavens and began her serman, “As we commend your souls to Aetherius, blessings of the Eight Divines upon you, for you are the salt and earth of Nirn, our beloved-” 

  


“For the love of Talos, shut up and let's get this over with!” a red haired Stormcloak soldier cut her off while walking forward.

  


She lowered her hands as an annoyed scoff left her lips, “as you wish.” she spat out.

  


The soldier was already waiting at the block by the time she finished speaking, an annoyed look crossing his tan features.

  


“Come on! We haven’t got all morning!” he yelled out, as he was lowered onto his knees.

  


He was placed down, his neck on the block as his face held an angry snarl, “my ancestors are smiling at me Imperials. Can you say the same?!” he had barely finished speaking when his words were cut off…

  


Quite literally.

  


Branton stared at the body with a look of fear and dread as the captain moved it to the side with her boot, another soldier coming to drag the body and head away from the block.

  


“You- you Imperial bastards!” he heard a female voice yell out.

  


“Justice!” a male voice cried out.

  


“Death to the Stormcloaks!” another female voice called out.

  


“As fearless in death, as he was in life.” he heard Ralof mumble out.

  


“Next! The silent Nord!”

  


Branton looked up, horror evident in his gray eyes. That wasn’t him was it.

  


Another loud roar was heard, but this time it seemed much… louder, and closer.

  


Brantons eyes looked up, fear still evident on his face.

  


Many more people looked up, including General Tullius and Ulfric Stormcloak.

  


“There it is again, do you hear that?”

  


“I said. Next. Prisoner.”

  


Branton felt his shoulders loosen up and head become lighter at that sentence, it was his time, this was how he was going to die. Though he didn’t fear dying, he didn’t want to die like this, not at all like this.

  


“To the block prisoner, nice and easy.” he heard the soldier murmur out.

  


Branton began walking towards the block, his head dipping down slightly as he got closer to the block. He looked up for a moment to see an older woman looking back at him, concern, sadness and sympathy crossing her features as she watched him continue to walk forward, he quickly looked away from her and looked forward at the block.

  


Soon enough he was right in front of it, Branton saw the fresh blood stain on the wood from the previous victim of the headsman's axe, he would’ve at least liked to die in a more clean area, and not- like this. 

  


He was dropped onto his knees and pushed by his shoulders so his neck was resting on the block, he felt light headed, he wanted to say something, scream, run off. Yet he did nothing, he couldn’t do anything, he just stared blankly forward as the headsman lifted the axe up behind his head.

  


“What in Oblivion is that?!” he heard General Tullius call out.

  


Branton shifted his eyes to a large shape that was flying towards the tower next to him and saw a large, black dragon with bloodist red eyes. The dragon quickly landed on the tower next to the block, the ground shook as it landed, knocking the executioner onto the floor, the axe falling some ways behind him.

  


“I- I- It’s in the clouds!” he heard a soldier call out, and many weapons being drawn out.

  


“Dragon!”

  


A loud, ear piercing boom noise was heard echoing out throughout the city, due to something the dragon had done.

  


A storm of large rocks began raining from the sky, raining down onto the floor and shattering as they hit the ground.

  


“Don't just stand there! Kill that thing! Guards! Get the townspeople to safety!” General Tullius yelled out.

  


“Hey, kinsman! Get up, come on! The Gods won’t give us another chance!” Ralof called to Branton as his senses finally came back to him.

  


Branton was now up on his feet, dazed as he followed Ralof, who had his hands unbound at this point, to a stone tower that other people had run into, mostly Stormcloak soldiers.

  


As Branton ran inside, the door closed behind him. He turned around to see Ulfric, now ungagged and unbound as well.

  


“Jarl Ulfric, what is that thing, could the legends be true?” Ralof asked, looking up at the ceiling of the tower momentarily before looking back at Ulfric.

  


“Legends don’t burn down villages.” Ulfric replied, crossing his arms over his chest as another loud boom was heard echoing out through the burning city.

  


“We need to move, now!” Ulfric called out.

  


Ralof nodded and turned to Branton, “up through the tower, let’s go.” he said, as he began jogging up the tower, Branton walking quickly at his heels.

  


They both quickly got to a portion of the tower that was blocked off by the fallen ceiling.

  


“We just need to move some of these rocks to clear the way-”

  


The dragon smashed its head through the wall, killing the Stormcloak soldier who had previously been speaking.

  


Branton quickly flinched back as the dragon broke through the wall, the two had made eye contact that lasted for only a second, but had felt like an eternity for Branton, who felt cold fear wash up his spine despite how hot it was in the tower.

  


The dragon opened its large maw and let out a fury of fire into the tower, Branton felt the heat of the fire lick past him, if he was cold before, by no means was he now.

  


The dragon, seemingly content with the work he had done, pushed off the tower and flew off, letting out a vicious roar.

  


Branton felt his heart rate pick up as he watched the dragon fly off, Ralof motioned for him to walk forward and pointed down towards a ruined and singed house.

  


“See the inn on the other side? Jump through the roof and keep going.” Ralof said, looking over to Brantons hesitant face.

  


“Go! We’ll follow when we can.”

  


Branton let out a sigh as he walked forward, looking down to where he could land without getting too hurt.

  


He inhaled and jumped down, his feet colliding with the warm wood, his knees bent slightly at the impact, but Branton was unscathed for the most part.

  


He quickly landed and walked towards the end of the top floor of the house. There was an open wound in the wall and in the floor which led to the outside.

  


He silently jumped down and walked out of the open wall of the house, he looked out to see the woman he had made eye contact with earlier speaking with the soldier who had asked for his name.

  


Branton silently walked forward with his shoulders tense and looked around quickly to where he could go to next and get the hell out of here.

  


“Hey, you, kid.” he heard a female voice call out.

  


He looked up to see the woman running towards him, concern was crossing her face again.

  


He took a few steps back as she walked forward, she held her hands up as if she was surrendering, “hey, hey, it's alright, I have more common sense than Captain Sildie, I’m not going to hurt you I promise, we need to get out of here, you can stick with me, we will get out of here alive.” she said, a light look crossing her features.

  


Branton nodded slightly, which caused the woman to smile warmly at him.

  


“Alright follow after me, we’re trying to get to the keep, it should be easy to get out from there, my cousin should be in there waiting for us.”

  


The woman began walking forward towards another ruined house that was a few feet away from a wall. 

  


“My name is Lyda by the way.” the woman said.

  


Branton nodded slightly, though she couldn’t see him since he was following behind her.

  


Lyda quickly got to a shallow ledge and jumped down, Branton following behind her. Almost as soon as they jumped down, the dragon landed above them, causing both people to crouch down and press their backs up against the wall.

  


The dragon let out another fury of fire from its dark, scaly maw. As soon as it closed its mouth, it began flying up, and over the two Nords to another part of the city.

  


Lyda stood up and looked down to Branton, concern filling her elderly eyes as she saw the fear set into him.

  


“You alright?” she asked the young boy.

  


“Uh, yeah, yeah, I'm alright.” he said, standing up.

  


Lyda nodded slightly and began walking again, going through the ruined house and out into the open where multiple Imperial soldiers were shooting arrows at the dragon, and throwing fireballs at it, Branton followed close behind her, afraid of what would happen if he strayed from her for even a moment.

  


As they got into a more open space, Branton could see how many bodies were strewn out, and how much more destruction the dragon had caused.

  


“Lyda, into the keep, we’re leaving.” Branton heard General Tullius call out.

  


Lyda didn’t say anything just kept running forward, looking back every now and then to ensure that Branton was following her.

  


She quickly ran towards a door, and pulled it open, beckoning for Branton to walk inside. 

  


Branton quickly began running forward to the keep, getting in with Lyda right behind him, the door closing as soon as she walked in.


End file.
